The Bad Hair Day
by penraven
Summary: Harry is having a bad hair day. Quite what this means remains to be seen however... With mild suggestiveness and overt parody.My first fic please R&R. If noone does so I will be forced to ask Snape to dice me and feed me to Trevor as a punishment.


**The bad hair day**

Harry was having a very bad day.

It hadn't started off too badly. He'd woken up with his scar twinging and his hair a godawful mess, but then that was nothing too unusual really. He had also been late and had had to rush down to the Great Hall in such a hurry that he had mistakenly put his sock on his head instead of his hat, but then that also was not too unusual – after all, a sixteen-year-old never wants to get out of bed, and Harry had become more than slightly unhinged since Sirius' death, thus explaining the sock incident.

But that was where the mundanities ended. As Harry sat down at the Griffindor breakfast table he felt an unwanted gaze on the back of his neck. Malfoy was staring at him. Harry wasn't entirely sure that he liked the look on Malfoy's face, but then it was a look he couldn't exactly identify and such things always made him nervous. _Why is Malfoy staring at me?_ He hurriedly tried to plaster down his hair, in case that was the problem, but Malfoy's eyes simply grew wider, and then he noticed Harry glaring at him and looked away hurriedly, sniggering something to Goyle. But that was not the worst of it for Harry.

He kept imagining Snape naked. It first happened in the Great Hall shortly after the Malfoy-staring incident, when he glanced at the staff table. There was Snape, and then suddenly naked Snape was plastered across Harry's eyeballs. It was disconcerting to say the least. Harry was very confused. After all, he knew he was hormonal and probably deranged, but _Snape_? Surely he didn't fancy _Snape_? Harry decided he had better get out of the Great Hall as soon as possible, before anything else weird happened. Weird things are supposed to happen in a magic school but this was just going beyond the pale. I mean, Snape wasn't even very good-looking.

Out in the Entrance Hall, Harry leant against the wall and tried to breathe normally. He wasn't entirely sure what to do. Maybe he should tell Hermione what was happening to him, but then he remembered how concerned she was about him, and dismissed the thought. She would think he was being paranoid and would report back to Dumbledore, who would assume Harry was becoming yet more unhinged and would ask him up to his office for a little chat. Harry shuddered at the thought. He was sure Dumbledore meant to be kind, but Harry really didn't like talking about his emotional state with him. After last year and the whole ridiculous hero-acting incident, he couldn't help but feel hideously guilty every time Sirius was mentioned. And Dumbledore was not afraid of mentioning Sirius. He seemed to think it would help, but Harry knew otherwise.

Harry also dismissed the thought of telling Ron, whom he knew would laugh and taunt Harry mercilessly if he knew Harry was thinking about Snape naked. The hideous image flashed in front of Harry's eyes yet again and he began to feel nauseous. No, it was better that Harry try to get on with things in a normal fashion, and perhaps after all he was just overtired from Quidditch practice. He delved into his bag to extract his timetable, which was already so tattered and worn it could hardly be read; despite this being only the second week of term, he had already lost it once – and turned to Tuesday.

First lesson: Advanced Potions

Harry groaned inwardly. This was not going to be a good day.

He managed to survive the Potions lesson, but it was not a pleasant experience for him as every time Snape came into view, the horrible image again played across his eyelids. He also couldn't shake the feeling that Malfoy was still staring at him, although as Malfoy sat behind him, this was difficult to confirm without it looking like Harry was also Malfoy-fixated. This was certainly not something Harry wanted; there were already enough rumours flying around about the two of them, and he still had no idea where they'd come from. Ron appeared to be asleep (Harry had no idea where he'd been all night – certainly not in the dormitory; he hadn't been at breakfast either) and Hermione was paying close attention to the lesson (which was about how to brew Veritaserum) and basically ignoring him; although he wondered if this had more to do with a drunken episode in the Burrow a couple of weeks previously than her interest in the subject. Neither of them noticed Harry's mounting distress, which was further augmented by Snape's insistence that Harry stay behind after the lesson, for not paying proper attention in class.

When all the other students had left the room, Snape rounded on Harry. 'So, Potter,' spat the Potions Master, 'Have you been having any… _unusual visions_ recently?'

Harry gulped. 'What s-sort of visions, _sir_?'

'Oh, anything out of the ordinary… Have you, let's say for example, been… _imagining me naked_?'

Harry made an inarticulate squeak. Snape had read his mind! But then, Harry reminded himself, he _was_ a skilled Legilimens. 'You used Legilimancy on me!'

Snape sneered, 'As ever, Potter, your stupidity surprises even me. I do not need to use Legilimancy to extract your thoughts, because _I_ _put them there in the first place_. Suffice to say, you will not understand the terminology used, so I will merely refer to it as a kind of reverse Legilimancy. _The exact kind the Dark Lord used on you last summer with such disastrous effect_. Potter, have you even been practising what Dumbledore has worked so hard to teach you?'

Harry flinched. He didn't like where Snape was going with this. He had been meaning to practice Occlumency after his summer course of lessons with Dumbledore, but it hadn't seemed too important at the time; there had been other things going on (like Hermione) and he still hadn't completely forgiven Dumbledore for ignoring him so completely last year. There was also the question of why Snape had chosen that particular image of himself. Harry shuddered.

'Answer me, Potter!'

'No,' said Harry coldly.

'Well then, I suggest you try, Potter! Or you know what will be popping into your mind! I have given you enough warning… I will be watching you! Potter, the Dark Lord will penetrate your mind with even greater ease than before unless you practice! Practice is _essential_, DO YOU UNDERSTAND!'

Snape was foaming at the mouth by now, and Harry really didn't like the emphasis he'd put on the word 'penetrate'. However, it looked like he was about to be let off the hook. 'May I go now, _sir_? I think you've made your _point_.'

Snape bared his yellowing teeth, obviously not being one for puns, but motioned for Harry to leave. 'And, Potter, if you see Miss Granger, would you be so kind as to remind her of her lunchtime appointment with me? It would be so _unfortunate_ if she did not turn up, and it turned out to be your fault. Really, it would.' Snape's eyes narrowed and Harry muttered something confused, partly-terrified and affirmative before hurrying out of the dungeon.

He caught up with Ron and Hermione in the Griffindor Common Room, and motioned them to one side. 'Um, I need to talk to you two. In private, please,' he muttered, looking around shiftily. Hermione gave Ron an 'oh look, Harry's gone bonkers again' look but they both followed him to a secluded window seat nonetheless.

'Did either of you two think… erm… that Snape was acting… well… a bit _odd_ earlier?' Harry asked, trying to be nonchalant but of course failing miserably.

'Dunno what you mean mate,' said Ron, still looking bleary-eyed.

'Well, I think you'd better be a little more specific, Harry,' voiced Hermione. 'Odd in what way?'

'Well…' Harry stalled. Both of his friends looked at him curiously. He decided he'd better come straight out with it. 'Do you think he fancies me?'

Hermione let out a great peal of laughter. Ron looked horrified.

'I bloody hope not, Harry,' said Ron. He had gone slightly green.

Hermione laughed again. 'Oh, Severus isn't _gay_. Uh, I mean, Snape. Isn't. Um.'

'How do you know?' asked Ron.

'_Severus_!' exploded Harry.

'Um, well… y'know…' said Hermione, looking bashful. She had gone rather pink.

Ron and Harry exchanged a look of revulsion. 'You… and _Snape_!'

'Well, stranger things have happened, _Ronald_,' said Hermione, matter-of-factly, although she still looked rather flustered. 'The Chudley Cannons won the cup one year, if I remember rightly.'

'Is _that_ why he wants to see you at lunch?' asked Harry, wondering if his day could get any worse. He thought he might actually be sick.

'Probably,' said Hermione brusquely. 'Now if you'll excuse me, I have an Arithmancy class to get to.' And she left the room without another word.

Harry and Ron sat in stunned silence for another few moments after she'd gone.

'Well I never,' said Ron finally.

'I suppose he is well-hung,' said Harry thoughtfully.

Ron gave him a look of disgust. 'How the _hell_ do you know that!'

'It's why I thought he fancied me. He kept putting images of himself naked into my head,' explained Harry in a bemused fashion. He was beginning to wonder if anything would surprise him.

'That man is _sick_!' exclaimed Ron indignantly. 'Really, really _sick_!'

They sat in further silence contemplating this until the bell went, and then hurried off to Advanced Transfiguration.

Harry was by this time thinking that things couldn't get any worse. But, of course, he was wrong, as he usually is.

Transfiguration went without much ado at first. They were Transfiguring creatures into larger, fiercer versions of themselves, and Harry was attempting to Transfigure his Flobberworm into a man-eating snake. Of course, it wasn't going very well, as he had his mind on other things. Like where Hermione had got to. He _knew_ she didn't have Arithmancy second on a Tuesday, she should have been in Transfiguration with himself and Ron. He also couldn't help wondering if his drunken philandering was what had driven her into the greasy arms of Snape, and he was being distracted by Ron, who was absent-mindedly wafting his wand and had set Harry's robes on fire twice.

Fortunately McGonagall decided to end the lesson early, and just as she did so, Hermione hurried in, looking pink and flustered. Harry hoped he didn't know why.

'Miss Granger, how nice of you to join us,' said Professor McGonagall, raising an eyebrow. 'Ten points from Griffindor for your lateness. I know it's my own house, but I cannot tolerate lateness from _anyone_, understood? Now Miss Granger, if you could sit down. You're just in time for my demonstration. Potter, come out to the front please.'

Harry did as she said, although not without some trepidation.

'Take your shirt off please,'

'_What_?'

'Oh come on, Potter, just take it off. I promise this won't hurt.'

Harry took off his shirt, feeling mutinous. Great, this was just what he needed, first Snape coming on to him, and then McGonagall trying to unrobe him. He really could do without this.

'Now, as you can see, Potter's chest, although perfectly formed, is rather scrawny,' continued McGonagall.

Harry looked down at his Seeker's pigeon chest and found he had to agree with her there.

'His arms are similarly rather feeble, although of course perfectly proportioned.'

'Thanks a lot,' muttered Harry. He found himself glad Malfoy wasn't in the room to stare at him, although he wasn't quite sure why.

'But what happens if we wish to turn Potter into, say, a weightlifter. If, for example, there were an accident and he became trapped under rubble, is there a Transfiguration that will enable Harry to escape? Yes, Miss Granger?'

'It's called the Maximus Musculus charm. It's not in actual fact a Transfiguration, but has been labelled as such since 1603, when it was invented by the Dutch wizard Archipelagus Feeble, who was trying to win an arm-wresting competition.'

'Ten points to Griffindor for that, Miss Granger. Yes, this so-called Transfiguration is not in fact on our syllabus, but I suppose it might come up as an extra on your exam. I thought I would show it to you today as a bit of light relief. And who knows, Harry may find it comes in useful for attracting the girls. Or boys, if you will,' said McGonagall, rather slyly, Harry thought, frowning. He wondered if McGonagall had been listening to the rumours…

'One warning about this charm: it is illegal in all wizard sports except duelling, where it is simply considered indecorous. Also, if the charm is constantly reapplied, the subject's own muscles waste away until he or she is no longer able to perform the vigorous wand swish needed to initiate the charm.' McGonagall looked sternly around the room. 'I need not warn you, that this charm, if incorrectly applied, could very well have dire consequences.'

Harry gulped. Oh great, now he was going to end up looking like some kind of weird mushroom or something. Thanks, McGonagall.

Professor McGonagall explained her way through the charm, performed the appropriate 'vigorous swish' and said the incantation. There was a flash of pink light, and the muscles on Harry's arms started to writhe and grow. He watched in horrified fascination as they reared up and started to bulge. Finally they stopped and he could examine them. He rather liked what he could see. Harry imagined that he really looked rather good. He flexed his muscles and swung his arms. If only Malfoy were there to see… What!

'Crack a couple of walnuts for me, Potter,' said McGonagall, interrupting his confused thoughts. 'Use your biceps.'

Harry did as he was told, experiencing consternation. McGonagall ate one of the walnuts with every evidence of extreme enjoyment and handed the other to him.

'Well I rather think that sums it up for today. The charm will last for seven hours, Potter, unless you wish to _finite incantatem_ it before then. Class dismissed,' ordered McGonagall.

'Make the most of it, why don't you,' she muttered in an undertone, before patting him a little too low down the back for comfort and striding away.

Harry stared after her in bewilderment. What was going on?

'Hermione?'

'Yes Harry?' replied Hermione, rather cautiously. It looked as if she were worried that he was about to bite her head off about the whole Snape incident as Ron had just done.

'Do you think that… well… d'you reckon McGonagall fancies me?'

Hermione gave him a concerned look. 'McGonagall? I really don't think so Harry. Everyone knows about her and Dumbledore.' Seeing his confused look she added, 'Well, perhaps not everyone then.'

'S'true, Harry,' said Ron, his mouth full of the lunchtime pumpkin pie. 'S'bin going on for years. Ever since they were both put in the Transfiguration department together.'

'But then why did she… why…?'

'Oh, isn't it _obvious_, Harry,' said Hermione in her most maddening fashion. 'She feels _sorry_ for you!'

Harry gave her a hurt look. 'Sorry for me? Why?'

'Because you've never had a proper girlfriend I s'pose,' said Ron.

'Or boyfriend,' added Hermione quietly.

'Oh, and I suppose both of you have then?' retorted Harry angrily, choosing to ignore Hermione's comment for the moment. 'Ron?'

'Umm… well… I was going to wait to tell you this but…' Ron gave Hermione a pleading look.

'He's going out with Cho Chang, Harry,' said Hermione, not looking at him.

Harry thought he might cry.

The trio had Advanced Herbology down in the greenhouses after lunch. Harry supposed that nothing much worse could happen to him in there. If he was lucky he might get bubotuber pus all over himself, he thought, but he couldn't quite see Sprout coming on to him. Surely being stared at, having to see Snape naked, knowing Snape was with Hermione and not him, appearing in front of his class topless, having McGonagall make passes at him and discovering Ron was with Cho was enough for any Boy Who Lived? But no.

Neville's Mimbulus Mimbletonia had by now matured and was a large, grey, fuzzy, pustule-filled protuberance. Harry thought it looked rather phallic, but didn't like to say so. It was to be the focus of their lesson that day. Harry was rather glad about this: he didn't think it was likely to splurge disfiguring fluids on him or wail loudly, or leap out of its pot and attack him as some of the wilder specimens in Greenhouse Six often did. He supposed he would probably end up covered in Stinksap however. Plants just didn't seem to like Harry. He sometimes wondered if this was something else he had 'inherited' from Voldemort, like the ability to speak Parseltongue, and the strange cravings he often experienced for Cockroach Cluster.

Neville was stroking the plant and cooing to it as Harry approached him. He had left the Common Room early to get away from Ron and forget about the absence of Hermione and no-one else was in the greenhouse, although he could have sworn some of the plants were lookin' at him funny.

'Isn't it perfect, Harry,' cooed Neville as Harry neared him. 'A perfect specimen. Just the right size, don't you think? About eight inches fully grown. By the way, your hair looks nice today. What have you done with it?'

Harry backed away slightly, feeling uncomfortable. His hair was awful! And he really didn't like the way Neville was stroking the cactus. He really didn't like it _at all_. 'Errr…' he ventured.

'Come here and take a look, Harry,' said Neville.

'I'd really rather not,' said Harry, getting more and more worried by the moment.

Neville looked at him, still stroking the cactus. Harry screamed and ran.

He ended up in the Library, out of breath and contemplating suicide. Not Neville too! What was wrong with the world?

The library appeared to be empty and Harry sank down on a stool by the large oval desk in the centre of the room, feeling desperate, and sank his head into his hands. What could he do? Surely this wasn't just an ordinarily awful day? Surely _something_ strange was going on? It couldn't just be his imagination… could it?

As these unwelcome thoughts swirled round his head like the contents of a Pensieve, he heard a light tread behind him and the sound of someone shuffling nervously from foot to foot.

_Oh God, who is it now?_ Harry despaired. 'Go away, Neville!' he cried. Because you can never be too careful.

'I'm not Neville, _Potter_. How dare you say that to _me_. Blood-traitor that you are.'

There was only one person it could be. Harry whirled round on his stool.

'Malfoy? What are you doing here?' Harry was surprised. He didn't feel half as annoyed as he had been expecting. He supposed this was because anyone, _anyone_ right now was better than Neville. Or Snape. Or Ron, Hermione, Cho, McGonagall, Dumbledore… Ah. It seemed that Malfoy was the only person he wanted to see. How very odd.

'It's a _library_, Potter. What do you think I'm doing?' Malfoy drawled.

'Lurking like you always do, waiting to sneak out on unsuspecting…'

'I've got far more right to ask you what you're doing here, as,' he ticked off on his fingers, 'I'm a prefect, and, oh, _you're not,_ and you have a lesson and, oh look Potter, _I don't_. Why are you here?'

Harry looked shifty. He wasn't sure he wanted to tell this to Malfoy. 'Well, where's Goyle?'

'Remedial Muggle Studies I'm afraid. But back to the point, Potty. Shouldn't you be in Herbology?'

Harry looked at him wildly. When had Malfoy been memorising his timetable? 'Well, I…' Harry supposed there was no avoiding it. He looked up at Malfoy scrutinisingly, knowing he was due for the ridiculing of a lifetime. But he had to tell _someone_. 'Because… I'm having the worst day _ever_,' sobbed Harry, realising to his complete and utter disgust that he was suddenly weeping like Myrtle.

Malfoy looked at him in horror and recoiled slightly. 'The famous Potter's _having a bad day_?'

Harry nodded, burying his head in his hands.

'Well what on Earth's happened?'

'Snape kept forcing me to think of him naked!'

Malfoy looked strangely upset. 'Snape? But I thought…'

'And then, and then Hermione said she was with him!' sobbed Harry, completely distraught.

'Oh God,' said Malfoy. He had gone even paler than usual, and suddenly seemed to need the table for support.

'And Ron's going out with Cho! And McGonagall feels sorry for me because no-one finds me attractive! And she put a Maximus Musculus charm on me and told me to make the most of it! And Neville was being suggestive at me with his _cactus_! And everyone thinks I fancy you!' Harry was beside himself by now. 'And my hair's such a _mess_!'

'Let me get this straight, Potter,' said Malfoy. 'The Dark Lord's trying to kill you and you're worried about your _hair_?'

Harry was a little taken aback. 'Well, not _just_ my hair…'

Malfoy moved round to sit on the desk next to Harry, still rather pale, but swinging his feet in a jaunty fashion as though he had chosen to ignore whatever had been bothering him a moment previously for something more interesting. He looked at Harry critically. 'You're _pathetic_, Potter,' he said, appearing almost amused. 'You really are completely potty. And there's nothing wrong with your _hair_. In fact, I was meaning to ask you… well…' he faltered then decided to plunge on manfully, 'what have you put on it? I mean, is it a charm? A potion? Some sort of… Muggle gel?'

Harry stopped crying in surprise. 'You _like_ it?'

'Well, not usually, but today, there seems to be… something about it.' Malfoy shrugged eloquently. 'I just wondered, is all. I have a professional interest in these things.'

'Well, I haven't done anything to it. I thought it was a terrible mess actually,' Harry said rather sheepishly.

'Maybe it was McGonagall's charm then,' said Malfoy non-commitally. But he kept looking at Harry.

There was a pause.

'And I'm _not_ pathetic,' muttered Harry mutinously.

Malfoy laughed. 'Prove it then! You're sitting in the Library crying about your _hair_! You're the most pathetic worm that ever wriggled!'

'I'll… I'll arm wrestle you!'

Malfoy whooped in delight. 'You'll _arm wrestle_ me! Oh dear!'

And he was actually crying with laughter.

'I can perform the charm on you too, so it'll be fair,' said Harry. He was starting to colour from embarrassment, but couldn't fight the fact that he quite liked the way he had made Malfoy laugh so much.

'You'll… oh go on then! Blimey, you Griffindors…'

Harry said the words and performed the vigorous swish; thanks to his lessened gloom, the charm was perfect. Malfoy's arms and torso swelled in the same bizarre manner that Harry's had earlier and soon they were facing each other across one of the smaller Library side tables.

'Ready, Potter? Slytherin versus Griffindor? Are you sure you can handle it?'

'Ready,' replied Harry grimly, although not without amusement.

They had just begun when Harry looked over Malfoy's shoulder and noticed a figure standing at the Library door. It was McGonagall, and she was gesturing to someone in the corridor outside, pointing at the two boys and hissing, 'I _told_ you it would work! They're holding hands!'

At the same time he saw a look of horror forming on Malfoy's face, as he stared in the opposite direction over Harry's shoulder; he released Harry's hand and sprinted from the room almost without seeing McGonagall, his hands over his mouth, gagging as though he were about to be violently sick.

Harry turned and saw Madam Pince and Filch clasped together behind one of the bookshelves, kissing passionately. Pince's hands were twining in Filch's long matted hair and his hand was nearing the opening in her dusty robes. Harry's stomach lurched nauseatingly and he too launched himself from the room.

He had only just entered the corridor when he rammed into something (or someone) solid and fell down. 'Hello Harry,' said a kind voice. 'I was hoping I'd bump into you. We need to have a little chat.' It was Dumbledore. He bent down and helped Harry up. Harry was by now feeling as if nothing worse could possibly happen to him. And just when he had got to talk to Malfoy…

'Come along, Harry,' said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling, although he looked concerned.

Inside Dumbledore's office, Harry was not feeling any better. Dumbledore had sat down and was observing Harry over his half-moon glasses and the tips of his fingers, which were pressed together gently, while Harry sat uncomfortably in a chair opposite him. Eventually he spoke. 'You seem to be having rather a bad day, Harry,' he said kindly.

Harry nodded tersely.

'I am very sorry that I have come to you so late on into it, then. However, it took me a little while to discover what was really going on, so I hope you will forgive me for that, at least this time. Tell me, Harry – have you noticed anything strange about your hair today?'

Harry was taken aback. Before he could stop himself, he had blurted, 'But Malfoy liked my hair!'

'Yes, Harry,' said Dumbledore seriously. 'But Malfoy has always been seduced by Dark magic.'

Harry looked at him in consternation.

'I am very sorry to have to say this, Harry,' Dumbledore sighed, 'But… have you noticed anyone close to you acting… oddly? As though under the Imperious curse?'

'Where do you want me to start?' muttered Harry. He wasn't enjoying this interview very much.

'The only reason I ask this is because I have reason to think that Lord Voldemort is possessing your hair.'

Harry reached up to touch his hair nervously and a horrible pain threatened to slice his head in two; his scar was suddenly burning as though on fire and a terrible voice seemed to come from inside his skull: 'I'll get you yet, Potter!' shrieked the voice, splitting Harry's eardrums and echoing loudly in the enclosed room. 'And as for your meddling Headmaster, I didn't find out anything worth knowing anyway! This school of yours is about as exciting as a dead badger!' With that, there was a long, drawn-out scream and the pain in Harry's head abruptly died. It seemed that rather than have Dumbledore and Harry force him out, Voldemort had decided to abandon ship.

'Well that's that then,' said Dumbledore calmly. 'And poor Professor McGonagall thought the incident in the Library was all down to her spell. I'm sure you and Master Malfoy will speak again, Harry, no need to look so disappointed. And things will return to normal for you now. It's a shame Lord Voldemort had such a very _compelling_ nature, which people it appears react to so very differently – it seems to have caused you no end of problems.' Dumbledore sighed. 'Do come and ask me if you find any repercussive issues you can't deal with. In the meantime… sherbet lemon?'

The End


End file.
